Free A Dance with Indecency by Linda Skye Page B

intimate embrace, their bodies twining together in time to the deep bass notes—and Harry knew immediately what he had to do.
    He would take her body. Then her heart. And finally...her money.

Chapter 2
    Elise Rousseau did not know whether to be relieved or irate. Harry McMahon had not recognized her—he, of all the people in New York! At the bar, they had stood close enough to kiss, and there hadn’t even been a flicker of recognition in his eyes!
    She studied him from under her thick, black lashes. It was obvious that he fancied her—from his overtly flirtatious gestures to the subtle way his fingers lingered at her waist. How interesting, she thought bitterly, that he should find her so irresistible now.
    No, he did not recognize her, but Elise certainly recognized him!
    Aristocratic prat. Audacious. Arrogant. Presumptuous, lazy and entitled. A list of unflattering adjectives raced through her mind as she observed his self-assured demeanor, carefully schooling her own features so that her thoughts remained secret.
    Not that he wasn’t the epitome of physical perfection. That simply could not be denied. He was tall, and his trim figure was accentuated by his tailored, three-piece suit. His gleaming dark hair was carefully combed back, and he had fiercely set, intense brown eyes and a strong, clean-shaven jaw. Yes, he was a very desirable man.
    After all, Elise had once fallen in love with him.
    Four years ago, she would have given anything to have him look at her the way he was looking at her now. Four years ago, she would have swooned at the thought of his hand touching her waist. Four years ago...
    Four years ago, she had confessed her love to him at their college graduation ceremony—and he had cruelly brushed her off, leaving her with nothing but the broken pieces of her innocent heart.
    Granted, she had been a different creature then; a gangly mess of thin limbs with mousy-brown hair and a slight stutter. But then she had escaped her shame across the ocean—to Paris to study—and everything had changed. In France, she had been courted by a rich, older French gentleman. They’d come to an understanding, the two of them. He needed a young wife on his arm, and she needed to reinvent herself. And so, within a year, she had transformed from Miss Elise Burke, bumbling college girl from New York, to Madame Elise Rousseau of Paris, fashionista and high-society gal.
    As they swayed to the bluesy tunes, Harry let his hands drift from her slim waist, and his heated palms molded firmly to the swell of her hips. With a deft jerk of his arms, he pulled her deeper into his embrace, his thighs rubbing sensually against hers. He leaned in with a smile, letting his lips graze her ear as he whispered meaningless flatteries in her ear. Elise threw her head back and laughed aloud.
    Who would have thought that swanky Mr. Harry McMahon would ever be fawning over little Miss Elise Burke?
    Let him think he’s won me over , Elise thought, a plan forming in her mind.
    The pulse of the deep bass and sultry saxophone quickened in tempo. The dancing all around them grew frantic, but Elise and Henry were locked in a slow, seductive pace all their own. He smoothed his hands down her shapely thighs as she slowly hooked a leg over his hip. He twisted and thrust his hips against hers, and she twined her slender arms around his neck.
    “Come to a party tomorrow night,” Harry said coaxingly as they danced. “I’ll show you what New York has to offer a woman such as yourself.”
    “A party?”
    “The likes of which you’ve never seen in Paris, I assure you,” he said, leading her back toward the bar.
    “Sounds jazzy,” Elise replied, her smile sharp as she let him pull her away from the dance floor.
    His pleased smirk was at once gratifying and infuriating. Feelings she’d long-forgotten awoke deep in the pit of her belly, and she found herself relishing the sensation. It has been so long since she’d felt much of anything. After her